Then this Kimberly girl puts her arm round Bonnie Bell. That was the way them two went down to the boathouse—their arms around one another. When they come back, in about ten minutes or so, they was talking so fast neither one of them could of heard what the other was saying.
"Oh, my goodness!" says Katherine after a little. "I must be going home. It isn't far, you know."
"Yes; I know," says Bonnie Bell, quiet.
"And you said you'd take me home in your car?"
"And you want me to?" says Bonnie Bell, kind of funny.
"I wish you would—if you will. Of course I could walk."
"Does your head hurt now?" ast Bonnie Bell.
The girl looked at her straight. Then I knew she was on the square.
"No, it don't," says she; "but I'd like it if you would take me home in your car," says she. "I want you to come in and meet my mommah. We want to come down here if you'll let us, all of us. Will you let us? Will you let us, Bonnie?" says she.
Now, ain't it funny how much can happen quiet and easy? I expect more had happened for Bonnie Bell this last hour or so than had in a whole year before—and all by accident, like most good things comes to us. Not a woman in that block had ever called on Bonnie Bell and it didn't look like they ever would. We wasn't on the map—even me, that ain't got any brains at all, knowed that.